Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Or a woman overly dramatic. Billie Myers came and went in 1998 with Kiss The Rain, a pop song whose hook helped
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he makes everything sound so damn appealing, so we allow him this soapbox… On October 31, 2007, I felt
We like to fluff Sir Paul McCartney ’round here, so today we offer a countervailing opinion. Our Bad Music Correspondent Eliot Glazer shall now take Macca down a peg or two. Great, Hidden Track, yet another post about aging Brits.
I like “Feliz Navidad” as much as the next guy, and although my heart lies with Mariah Carey’s go-to-for-the-gays, modern classic “All I Want For Christmas,” the holiday song I can truly call my favorite is, naturally, “Wonderful Christmas Time (All The Best!)” by Paul McCartney and Wings. Honestly, what the shit is this song?
Read on for more on why Eliot wants this song to go the way of Linda…
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he makes everything sound so damn appealing, so we allow him this little soapbox… Everybody loves a wide-eyed indie
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he makes everything sound so damn appealing, so we allow him this little soapbox…
The Isley Brothers are the stuff of legend. As pioneers of marrying funk, soul, and rock and roll, the Cincinnati trio has seen its success span decades. Through good times and bad, and in packs of varying number, the Isleys have most certainly left their stamp on the music industry and continue to churn out hits as the shape of pop music endures further shape-shifting models.
In 1995, Ronald Isley took a gamble — what did he really have to lose? — and teamed up with R. Kelly, releasing the single “Contagious,” for which Isley adopted a pimped-out alter ego named Mr. Biggs. Floating through the pop cultural continuum during a time when gangsta rap equated the machismo factor in urban radio, Isley’s career was rejuvenated by his playing an inexplicably rich and powerful man-king whose woman goes astray in pursuit of R. Kelly’s younger, more virile magic penis (I’ll spare you the obvious pee joke).
Watching Contagious is like peering into a crystal ball that contained a future in which R. Kelly would find stunning success with a repetitive, undeniably silly slow jam and a soapy narrative consistently centered around adultery. But where “Trapped In The Closet” manages to take its viewer/listener straight to downtown Crazyland, “Contagious” remains creepy and bizarre, only in the most enjoyable way possible. Read on after the jump to watch the incredible video…
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good. Remember Charlotte
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good. Way before
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good. As a
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good.
Not until recently did I realize how much I love Anita Baker.
I don’t know what clued me in. I should have realized her brilliantly campy appeal years ago when, while working at a country club, a fellow employee (and unrecognized pop cultural genius) complained about George Michael’s Careless Whispers being played too often throughout the establishment. I questioned her disgust with the song, as I was personally indifferent to it.
“C’mon, dude,” she said, “It’s totally an anthem for pedophiles.”
Read on for more of Eliot’s hilarious romp through Anita Baker’s mind…
HT Contributor Eliot Glazer has tremendously terrible taste in music. But he’s an adroit wordsmith, and he’s gonna try to convince us that the bad is really good.
Now I may not have been a cool kid by any means, but my parents — your everyday liberal Jewish boomers — knew how to keep their oldest son’s musical taste in check.
As a product of the[ir] times, I listened to Carly Simon, Harry Chapin, Carole King, Jackson Browne, Joni Mitchell…basically any North American who owned a musical instrument and experienced mild depression between 1970 and 1982 (one might not necessarily include Billy Joel among those folksters, but one wouldn’t realize that I grew up on Long Island, where knowing all the words to “Scenes From An Italian Restaurant” is as natural as giving the finger on the L.I.E.).
James Taylor was always, and continues to be, a staple of my musical taste. From his genuinely formative early records to his more recent albums that seamlessly compliment the “elegant yet comfortable” interior of a Williams Sonoma, Taylor’s got his routine down to a science. He doesn’t take risks, but there isn’t necessarily anything wrong with that (look at Norah Jones, three records, eight Grammys, and a cool bajillion dollars later). Every summer when JT plays at Jones Beach, my mom drags my dad along who, although he’s as much a fan as I am, often jokes that he should “bring a blanket and pillow” to the show. Ah, some things never change.
Read on for more I Love Bad Music and a fancy, streamable JT track…
